The Music We Make
by Bubble Wrapped Kitty
Summary: A series of unconnected oneshots and drabbles based off songs from Glee, all featuring Artie and/or Tina. HIATUS
1. You Can't Always Get What You Want

AN: The next chapter of Broken is fighting me tooth and nail, so to get in my daily post I decided it was about time to start this other pet project of mine. "The Music We Make" is a series of unconnected and unrelated drabbles and oneshots, all based on songs from Glee and all of them featuring Artie and/or Tina. There's no rhyme or reason to the order, just however my muse seizes me, and they are not chronological. I'll post a little author note at the beginning of each to detail the timeframe and the point of view, just to avoid confusion. And it does help to listen to the songs while you're reading, if anyone is into that, because I listen while I write them and it definitely helps set the mood. Cheers!

_"You Can't Always Get What You Want" __Artie, __Post-Sectionals._

* * *

You Can't Always Get What You Want

"To New Directions!"

We all raise our soda glasses and repeat the toast that Rachel had just announced. We only got home from Sectionals an hour ago, and the moment we had gotten onto the bus Rachel had promptly invited us all to a celebratory party at her house. It must have been the insane amount of team spirit in the air that managed to make everyone agree to come. Now we're all sitting around the Berrys' living room, and the mood is high.

Now that Rachel's speech and toast are over, Kurt draws me back into the conversation we'd been having. "Seriously, Artie, you've got to do something," Kurt says insistently. I just make a non-committal noise and turn my attention to my drink. However I can't help it when my eyes drift to the other side of the room over the rim of my cup.

There she is, standing in the corner and talking excitedly with Mike Chang. Even as I'm watching, he offers her a hand and she hesitates only a second before taking it. He leads her out into the open space in the middle of the room and they start dancing to the music pounding through Rachel's extremely impressive sound system. The very sight makes something in my chest feel heavy and I look down at my lap.

It's been weeks and things between Tina and I are still awkward. We talked it out and managed to smooth out things, but now it feels like we've fallen into a bit of a rut. We don't hang out nearly as much as we used to, and when we do it always feels awkward and hesitant. And the biggest problem is that I'm still thinking of her the way that I did before the date, and that way is not in the 'just friends' way we're trying to be. I want more, and I can't have it.

Being in a wheelchair, you get pretty used to not having the things that you want. No matter how much you wish it, you're not going to magically get up and walk, you're not going to be treated like a normal person, and you're not going to be the most sought after bachelor on campus. Or a bachelor that's sought after at all. Ever. It just doesn't happen.

Tina Cohen-Chang is the one thing I want more than all of those, and she's the one I still can't have.

I messed us up, and I know that. I had full right to be upset when she told me the truth about her stutter, but I didn't have the right to talk to her the way I did. I was just so scared of losing her that I couldn't think straight, and now every time we talk, it feels like the words of our arguments are floating between us. Our friendship is tentative at best, like we're afraid of saying the slightest thing wrong and having the whole thing explode again.

Now as I watch her dancing with Mike, for some reason I find myself hating him. I don't know why, he's a nice guy. Of all the jocks on Glee, he's probably the one I get along with the best. Honestly, I don't have any problem with him. Except for the fact that he's out there dancing with the girl I would give anything to dance with. And he's a really good dancer, which doesn't make me feel any better.

"Arthur, you're staring." Kurt's abrupt statement jerks me back to reality and I look over at him in surprise. "You really need to just man up and say it," he tells me in that extremely blunt and slightly condescending way of his. "She still wants you, but that's not going to last forever if you keep pushing her out."

"I'd really rather not talk about this," I say, retaliating against his forwardness by slipping into my most emotionless voice, signaling to him that I'm done with this conversation.

"I don't know why I try," Kurt says, rolling his eyes and flicking his hair out of them. "Fine. We will return to the cyclical celebration talk over our win then, but I hope you're still thinking about what I said." The conversation gets easier as we start talking about Sectionals again, and I find myself able to enjoy the party again.

The hours burn on until it's dark outside. It's actually pretty amazing how much fun we're all having together. There's still a really tense vibe in the air every time Finn gets too close to Puck or Quinn, but then he'll move to the other side of the room and everyone will relax again. I'm honestly impressed with how well-behaved he's being about it, considering the beat-down we watched in the choir room the other day.

Rachel has the instrumental versions of just about every single song we've ever performed in Glee club on her iPod (is anyone really surprised by that?) and she plugs it into the stereo, turning our chatting into a full-blown jam session. We all just sing as we feel it and it's completely relaxed and all about the fun of it, like the impromptu jam parties we had when our club had been split in two by Mr. Schue and Ms. Sylvester's arguments. If anyone had been starting to come down off the high from winning, this sends it straight through the roof again.

After about a solid hour of singing, I really need a drink. Thank goodness Rachel's house has hardwood floors. I roll my chair into the kitchen and begin pouring myself another glass from the bottles of soda sitting on the counter.

"Need a hand?" I almost jump (or, well, as much of a jump as my body is capable of) at the voice and glance over my shoulder to see Tina standing just inside the kitchen doorway.

"Nah, I got it," I answer, finishing pouring my glass. "You looking for a refill?" I ask, glancing back at her again.

"Yeah, that sounds good," she agrees and she holds her cup down where I can pour into it. "Thanks."

"No problem." I slip the bottle back up onto the counter and then take a drink, feeling grateful as it soothes my dry throat. "Fun party, huh?" I ask, grinning.

"A blast," Tina agrees. "I never thought I'd be enjoying myself so much hanging out with football players and Cheerios at Rachel Berry's house."

I laugh. "I know what you mean. That does make it sound pretty impossible." We lapse into quiet again and I can feel my heart hammering in my chest. It always seems to do that whenever she's around, and as good as it feels, it's sort of annoying because it just keeps reminding me that once again I want something I can't have.

"So, you and Mike?" The question is out of my mouth before I've even considered it and the moment it is I wish I could take it back. I really don't want to know the answer. It'll only hurt.

Tina snorts into her glass, which is not exactly the reaction I was expecting. "Oh that?" she asks. "He was just trying to see if all Asians are as good of dancers as him." She smiles shyly. "Which I'm not. Not even close."

For some reason, I feel better. I glance up at her and smile, my chest fluttering. And it must just be the euphoria from the trophy sitting on the coffee table in Rachel's living room, but a strange sense of daring floods into me. "Hey Tee, come down here for a second, would you?"

Tina's forehead furrows as she bends down. "Why, do I have something–" I cut her off by pressing my mouth to hers. For a second, one agonizingly long second, she doesn't react and I wonder if maybe I've done something wrong. Oh God, what was I thinking? This was stupid. She doesn't want me. I can't have her. All I'm doing is getting my hopes up again.

And then she's kissing me back.

When we pull apart, she fixes me with a huge smile, and I know I'm grinning like a bit of an idiot. "Tee, I can't stop thinking about you, and I don't want to just stay friends anymore," I tell her in a rush, trying to get it all out before whatever strange sort of high I'm on wears off. "I miss having you in my life and I want that back. I _need_ that back. Can we find some way to do that?"

In response, she just kisses me again. I'm going to go ahead and take that as a yes. "I missed you too, Artie," she tells me when we break apart.

My head is still sort of reeling from the kissing, and it takes me a minute to come up with something to say. "Want a ride back to the living room?" I ask with a grin, patting my leg. Tina laughs and then sits down in my lap. "Um, but hold my drink, could you?" I ask when I realize she's now sitting where I normally carry it.

"I think I can do that," she agrees and takes my cup.

"Oh, and hands and feet inside the vehicle when we're moving," I warn. "The doorways here aren't quite as wide as at my house." Tina laughs again and tucks her feet up against mine on the footrests, and once I'm sure she's set I roll us into the living room again.

I hadn't expected it to create quite the stir that it does when we come back in together, but we're both instantly besieged by wolf whistles and clapping. "About time," Kurt says dramatically and everyone laughs. I'm blushing like crazy, but when I glance at Tina she smiles at me and it's like everything suddenly feels perfectly okay.

Because for once in my life, I've got the something I really want. And it turns out she really wants me too.


	2. Tonight

AN: This one is based off a specific verse of the song, which I've included at the very beginning of the chapter. Most of these will be based on the song as a whole, but for this one I was really inspired the most by a single section and I wanted to make sure that was shared with you. Also thank you to everyone who's started following this. You guys make me so happy.

_"Tonight" Tina POV, pre-series _

_Today, all day I had the feeling,  
__A miracle would happen.  
I know now I was right.  
For here you are,  
__And what was just a world is a star.  
__Tonight._

* * *

Tonight

For some reason, when I wake up this morning I just know it's going to be a good day. I'm not sure what's making me think it, since by all means it should be a very crummy day. My first day at my new school in this stupid town, and my parents aren't even home to see me off. They left all the house arrangements with me and the movers, and then both of them hopped on planes for work. The house, still only partially unpacked, feels silent and haunted as I climb out of bed and I immediately turn on my stereo, the first thing I set up in my new room, just to kill the emptiness. Just like every day, I don't really want to go to school, I'm bitter with my parents for being gone again, and I'm even angrier at them for making me move. I really don't want to have to deal with the attention of being the new kid in school; at least everyone at my old school knew to just leave me alone.

And yet for some inexplicable reason, I can't shake the feeling that there's something special about today.

Maybe it's the new school thing. A chance for me to start fresh, throw off the life I made for myself back in Cincinnati. For a second it's tempting, and then I realize just what I'm thinking. Actually associating with people, being expected to talk all the time, letting people get close enough to hurt me. No, my parents do enough of that, I don't need so-called friends for it too. So it's definitely not the new school thing.

Brushing away all of those thoughts, I head into the bathroom to get ready for school. My reflection makes me a smile a bit. I've adopted a new style over the last year, comprising of dark clothes and crazy accessories. Mostly just to annoy my parents, but also because it seems to turn people off to me and makes them leave me alone. And I think it sort of looks cool. My favorite part of my reflection though is the bright blue streaks laced through my hair. I only had them done last week, in protest to my parents making me move. Neither of them has been home long enough to notice them yet.

Once I'm set to go, I head out of the house and walk in the direction of the school that one of the movers had been kind enough to point out to me yesterday. Good thing too, because I have no idea where I'm going in this stupid town yet. I see the occasional person walking in the same direction as me, and all of them give me the same half-curious half-horrified look. Hmm, maybe they will leave me alone and I won't have to worry about that. That would make this day a good one.

The school is sort of run down, not at all like the school I went to in Cincinnati. However the process and procedures I have to go through in the main office while getting all of my paperwork is the same as it has been the last three times I've had to register for school. The secretary, a pretty woman who sounds vaguely Puerto Rican, seems a little surprised that my parents aren't here to sign me up but she doesn't make a fuss about it.

I get lost on my way to my third class (since registration took so long I missed the first two) and when I stumble into the room ten minutes late the teacher glares at me. I don't speak as I walk up to her desk and hand her the slip of paper from the office. "Oh you're our new student," she says loudly and I wince as every eye on the classroom suddenly fixes on me with a staggering intensity. Apparently new students are a huge deal in this place. Especially new students who look like me.

"Welcome to Lima," the teacher says, smiling down at me. "Class, this is our new student, Tina. I want you all to be especially nice to her and help her get adjusted and welcome her into our school." There are a few sarcastic smirks at this and when the teacher directs me to my desk, an empty seat right near the front of the room, I drop into it reluctantly. All through the lesson, a math lesson that's got me completely confused, I can feel eyes on my back and whispers hissing through the room. Why did I think today would be good again?

After the class, I find out that a welcome to Lima means a couple of idiotic guys cornering me and harassing me, ending with me getting shoved into one of the trashcans that line the hall. Damn my Korean stature for making me small enough.

The rest of my classes go about the same way, with the teachers drawing a ridiculous amount of attention to my arrival and the student body whispering about me behind my back. I can hear most of what they're saying, and it's all things I've heard before, so inside I'm just wishing that all of the chaos will just die down soon. I try to pay attention to my classes, but apart from history it seems like the lessons here are way ahead of what I was learning in Cincinnati and I get lost fast.

I'm dreading lunch more than any other thing about today, because lunch means trying to find an inconspicuous place to sit in the middle of half the student body, away from other people, and praying that no one tries to play welcome committee and join me. I get through the lunch line, earning a few odd looks from lunch ladies that seem alarmed by my clothes, and then begin searching the room for an empty table.

There's one, tucked away in a corner near a trashcan, and I sit down with my back to the rest of the students. I really wish I'd remembered my mp3 player when I left for school this morning, because then I could at least listen to music while I try to ignore the fact that I can feel eyes on my back still. God I hope something else exciting happens soon so I become old news.

"Mind if I join you?"

Oh damn it, why can't they just leave me alone? I don't even look up as I just nod and keep pushing whatever this entrée is supposed to be around the tray with my fork. I hear a tray being set on the table a few feet to my right.

"You're the new girl in my math class, right? What's your name?" the boy that's sitting by me (I can tell he's a boy by his voice, and if I weren't so annoyed I would laugh as it cracks up an octave) asks.

I sigh, still not looking over at him. Fine, time to unleash the full thing on these people and get them to understand once and for all that I'm an outcast. Make them want to leave me alone. I'm not worried about the word spreading; this is a small community and I can tell already that once one person knows, everyone will. Time to drive them off. "T-t-tina."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Artie." Wait a second, he didn't even hesitate in replying. Normally when people hear they will stop, momentarily stunned, before they can answer. He answered like he hadn't even noticed. Despite myself, I look up.

I am instantly caught up in his smile. It's not overbearing or anything, but it's bright and welcoming and warm. And he has the straightest, brightest smile I've ever seen. It lights up his blue eyes behind his thick-rimmed glasses. I have to take a second longer before I finally take in the rest of him that I can see over the tabletop (which isn't much since the table hits him mid-chest. He must be pretty short); plain brown hair, a baggy white buttondown with a red sweatervest, and the hand he offers out to me is covered in a yellow fingerless glove, like the sort weightlifters wear.

"H-hey," I say, taking his hand awkwardly. He just smiles brighter as he gives my hand a quick shake and then goes back to his lunch like nothing weird had just happened.

"I hope you don't mind me sitting with you, I try to avoid the crowds," he says, glancing up at me again. I just shrug, wondering why he avoids people. He seems to be pretty social. Maybe he's just messing with me because I'm the new kid. "So, you liking Lima so far?"

I make a sarcastic noise in the back of my throat and he laughs. He has a really sweet laugh, sort of rich and light at the same time.

"I know what you mean. It definitely takes some getting used to," he agrees. "We're an odd sort of people around here. Where are you from?"

"C-c-c-cincinat-t-ti," I stammer out, laying the stutter on thick.

The guy, Artie I think it was, just smiles and his eyes get really wide. "Very cool," he says. "I haven't been down there in a long time, but I have some cousins down there. I think. I'm not sure, I have a big family and they seem to move a lot." He suddenly looks embarrassed and gets a really shy smile, looking down at his hands. "I'm sorry, I'm probably bothering you, aren't I? I tend to ramble sometimes when I'm nervous, I just sort of start talking and forget to stop."

"N-no, it's f-f-fine," I say, surprising myself as much as him. What am I doing? I want people to leave me alone, not stay and talk to me more. But there's something so honest and genuine in his smile that I can't help but want to be around him just a while longer. I know it'll only last for a while, soon he'll realize I have a stutter and that everyone will make fun of him for being around me, but for now it feels sort of – nice. Not to mention, he's sort of cute in an endearing, geeky sort of way.

Artie smiles at me and for some reason it makes me feel really good knowing I put it there. Is this what it feels like to socialize like a normal person instead of pushing everyone away? "Have the big guys on campus come to tell you how the hierarchy works yet?" he asks with a bit of sarcasm under his sweet, flat tone. I nod, glancing down at my tray. "Don't worry about it, they're more huff than puff. If you stick around with me, I can promise they'll bug you less."

"R-r-really?" I ask in surprise. Is he someone people won't mess with? The way he dresses make me suspect he's more likely to be the one getting picked on, not the one stopping people. Maybe it's because he's such a nice guy. Artie just smiles again, although there's something a little grim and resigned in his eyes, and nods. "T-tell me about this p-p-place," I say.

Artie opens his mouth to answer and the bell signaling the end of the lunch hour rings. Wow, I can't believe I actually spent that whole time having a conversation with someone. "Maybe later," he says with a quite laugh, but I catch a bit of a twist in his voice, like he's thinking that 'later' isn't likely to happen. Guess he's finally catching on that being friends with the stuttering Goth new girl freak isn't going to be doing him any favors.

"Yeah, l-l-later," I agree. "N-nice meeting you, Artie."

"You too, Tina," Artie says and he flashes me one more brighter-than-life smile before I grab my tray and walk away. I glance back after I'm halfway across the room but I can't see him anywhere in the crowd. Sighing, I throw away my trash and go back to fighting my way through my classes.

As far as school goes, my day does not improve any. I'm still horribly lost in almost all of my classes. My seventh period Science teacher makes me introduce myself, until he hears me stuttering and then quickly shushes me and lets me sit down. Everyone in the class starts talking to each other immediately, not really bothering to keep their voices down this time as they discuss the new girl's speech impediment. I'm now certain that my social status as an outcast freak is solidified. Can check that off my to-do list, I suppose.

Since I had to take my paperwork back into the office at the end of the day, I'm leaving the school about a half hour after the rest of the student body. Not that I mind, I don't like the crowds anyway. I go around the side of the building, heading in the direction of my house, when I notice a crowd gathered at a back corner of the lot. It looks like a big group of huge guys, the sort that had cornered me this morning, and I keep quiet as I'm passing so they won't notice me. They seem pretty preoccupied with whatever they're doing anyway.

"Ow, okay guys wait." I turn at the familiar voice, glancing back at the group of guys. I can just make out a flash of bright red sweater being lifted up and a second later there's a yelp as he's tossed into a waiting dumpster.

"Wh-what the hell?" I shout indignantly before I even realize I've spoken. The guys turn to me and as one they start laughing.

"Oh look, speak of the devil," one of them, a bulky guy with a black mohawk, says. "What'd you think, guys?"

A second later two guys have seized a hold of me, one by the arms and the other by my legs (my face flushes violet since I'm wearing a skirt that I'm sure he and every guy standing near him is getting a good look up). They carry me over a few feet and then suddenly I'm flying. I land with an _umph_ in the middle of a pretty awful smell, on top of something else that goes _umph_.

"Hey there, Tina." I sit up and look around to realize I'm sitting across the legs of the guy from lunch. Artie. "Long time, no see. Looks like you got your official Lima Junior High welcome out of the way."

"Wh-what are you d-d-doing in here?" I ask, trying to breathe through my mouth because of the smell. It doesn't work; the smell's so strong I can taste it.

Artie laughs. "This is where I end up at least once a week after school, it's nothing big," he says, shrugging and sitting up too. That's when I remember I'm on his legs and I slip off. The sound of the laughing from outside is fading so I stand up awkwardly on the garbage sacks.

"I th-thought they didn't p-p-pick on y-you?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"No, I said if you hung around me they'd bug you less," he clarifies. "Mostly because they'd pick on me instead. It's more entertaining for them to go after me." He coughs, wrinkling his nose. "Let's talk outside of here, huh? Yesterday's lunch didn't even smell good the first time, let alone after sitting in a trashcan in the sun all day."

I turn and haul myself over the edge of the dumpster, landing rather ungracefully on the other side. When I turn back to the dumpster I see a yellow gloved hand grasp the edge, and then another. A second later Artie's face appears over the top, his face looking strained. "D-d-do you n-need a hand?" I ask uncertainly.

"Nope, I got it," Artie says, pushing himself up so his upper half is hanging over the edge. I watch in confusion as he reaches down into the dumpster again, his arm coming back up a second later pulling the leg of his jeans. Once he's got his leg over, he grips the edge of the dumpster again, and then tilts until his body rolls over the edge. Before I can react, he's falling. His grip on the edge stops his fall a little until his arms give out and he hits the ground with another, louder _umph_.

"Are you okay?" I ask, so alarmed that I forget about my stutter.

To my surprise, he just laughs. "Yeah, I'm fine," he says, pushing himself up with his arms until he's sitting up and leans against the dumpster. "Not one of my best landings, I'll admit." He turns his attention to picking garbage off his clothes and out of his hair. "You okay? You didn't get hurt flying in, did you? They have pretty bad aim sometimes."

"N-n-no, I'm fine," I say, beginning to brush myself off too. "D-d-d-did I hurt you when I f-fell on you?"

At this Artie lets out a humorless laugh that draws my eyes up from the jello I'm trying to rub off my sleeve. "Trust me, I didn't feel a thing," he says. He picks a piece of wilted lettuce out of his hair with a look of disgust. "Hey can you do me a favor and get that for me?"

I follow where he's pointing to and suddenly all of the pieces click into place. Why he avoids the crowded canteen, why he is so accepting of me, why he looked so short even though I can tell now he's at least my height, why the guys bother him, why he let himself fall out of the dumpster, and why he didn't feel my landing. Because lying on its side by the corner of the dumpster is a wheelchair.

"Y-yeah, no problem." I go over and tilt the chair upright, pushing it back to him. He reaches over and flips some little levers on the tires, and then hauls himself into the chair with just his arms before I can even offer to help. He doesn't look at me as he arranges his legs and settles his feet onto the rests.

"Sorry I got you trashed," Artie says, still looking down at his lap.

"S-s-sorry I got you t-trashed," I reply and he looks up in surprise. "The one w-with the Mohawk, he said s-s-speak of the devil when he s-saw me."

Artie smiles a little. "Nice catch," he says. "But it wasn't your fault. They just saw us at lunch together and were giving me a go about it. About the chair and everything. Puckerman, the one with the Mohawk, made some stupid comment about you and I told him to knock it off. Hence the dumpster trip."

"Th-thank you," I say and I watch as another embarrassed smile spreads over his face. I've never had someone stand up for me before, and the fact that that person is a guy who's got enough problems of his own just makes me feel even better. I know I'm slipping into dangerous territory, letting myself connect with someone, but there's something about this guy that makes it hard for me to stay away.

"C-can I w-w-walk y-you home?" My stutter may be fake, but it still tends to get worse when I'm nervous. I can feel the heat in my cheeks as Artie looks up at me with wide eyes.

"I thought the guy's supposed to walk the girl home," he says with a laugh.

"The g-g-girl doesn't want to go h-home," I admit with a shrug. "M-my parents are gone and I'll j-j-just end up unpacking b-boxes."

Artie looks thoughtful and he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. "You want to come over to my house for a while then? We could, I dunno, do that math assignment together," he suggests timidly.

I smile gratefully. "Th-that would be great," I say. "I'm s-so l-l-lost in that class."

"Cool," Artie says. He turns his chair toward the sidewalk and as we're heading down it he glances sideways at me. "Can I carry your books?"

It's so old-fashioned and cheesy that I can't tell him no. Instead I hand him my books, which he sets on his lap before going back to pushing the wheels of his chair. "S-s-so what do you d-do for fun?" I ask. Whoa, now I'm the one striking up conversations. This guy is really messing with my head.

"Same things as everyone else: watch tv, play video games, annoy the siblings, drive my parents insane, procrastinate on homework and chores," he says with a grin. I laugh and his smile seems to get a little bigger. "Actually I spend most of my time listening to music. And I've been teaching myself to play guitar, so that kills a lot of time."

My eyes light up in interest. "Really? W-wow," I say in awe. "I l-love music."

Artie's smile really does widen this time. "Really? Wait, music or lyrics?" he asks suspiciously.

"Music, d-definitely," I say without hesitation. "Guitar solos over fancy m-m-metaphors any day."

Artie actually laughs aloud at this. "I knew I liked you for a reason," he says approvingly. "You've got good taste." We talk about music while we're walking – and rolling – and it's only once Artie announces that this is his street that I look up.

"W-whoa, small world," I say in surprise. Artie looks innocently confused and I laugh. "I l-l-live on that street over th-there," I explain, pointing down to where my road intersects with his.

"That'll make walking you home a short trip," Artie says with a laugh. We stop in front of his house, a cute little one-story with a wide concrete ramp going up to the door in place of steps. "Hey Tina," he says suddenly and I turn to him. He looks shy and nervous again, but he's still smiling. "I'm really glad you moved to Lima."

Suddenly the whole world seems brighter and I smile. This is it; this is that good thing I've been expecting since I woke up this morning, the one I've been anticipating all day. I, Tina Cohen-Chang, the stuttering Goth that's closed herself off to people, just made a friend. A best friend. A best friend who doesn't care if I'm different and who makes me feel comfortable talking. It's nothing short of a miracle.

"M-m-me too, Artie."


	3. Smile

AN: Ooh the angst. This might be my favorite angsty oneshot I've ever written. And I definitely recommend listening to the song while reading again, because I reread it with a different song playing and it totally switches around the mood.

_"Smile (Charlie Chaplin Cover)" Artie POV, during the tail end of "Wheels", post-confession but pre-"Proud Mary"_

* * *

Smile (Charlie Chaplin Cover)

If there's one thing I'm good at, it's smiling. I do it constantly, more out of habit than anything. My mom always told me that if you keep smiling, it will sink into your soul and you'll really feel happy. I've had a lot of times in my life where my soul could use a little sunshine, (every single time my chair makes my life more complicated than everyone else's, for example) so I smile. A lot.

It's not always a fake smile, either. I usually am a happy person. Disability or not, I've got a pretty good life for the most part. At least I'm happier with it than a lot of people without disabilities are with theirs. I've adjusted, and while it's a little irritating how many things I've had to adjust, in the end it just makes me feel better about myself because I know I'm so much stronger than all of the people who've just had things given to them their whole lives.

For a long time I had managed to keep my life nice and orderly and under control, and I always had my smile. And then something just had to come along and rock the boat. Or more some_one_. A black-and-blue-haired someone, named Tina Cohen-Chang.

At first she was only a friend, and that was the most glorious feeling ever. We ate lunches together and helped each other study for tests. There was always someone to help the other wash off whenever the popular kids decided to remind us how low we sat on the social totem pole. Someone to cheer us up when things were rough. Someone so neither of us was alone anymore.

And my smile was faked less and less.

Then one day things started changing. Whenever she looked at me, my cheeks felt warm. When she helped me wash the slushie off, the feel of her hands in my hair and on my face sent a little pulse of electricity through my stomach. Every time her hand brushed mine I wanted nothing more than to grab it and hold on, take my gloves off so I could feel what her skin felt like against mine. She gave me what could only be described as butterflies, until finally one day I decided I couldn't take it anymore. I asked her on a date. She said yes.

And suddenly my smile was a whole lot more real.

When we met up that night, she was smiling too. I had more fun than I'd had in a long time, because it was having fun with her. Just her. We went out for pizza, because it's her favorite, and traded toppings when the orders got screwed up. She teased me about my love of mushrooms, and I made fun of how many bell peppers she piled onto her slice. Then we went back to the school and when we found out it was unlocked, the temptation was too much. We snuck into the choir room, Tina nicked one of the wheelchairs, and we had a drag race. I went easy on her, but I still won. She kissed me.

And my smile was one-hundred-percent genuine.

Then she started talking. A confession. The more I listened, the tighter my chest felt. It was sort of hard to breathe, and I could hear pounding in my ears. Was it my heart beat? No, couldn't be, because that pain in my chest must surely have been it breaking. Everything, every happiness and every smile I'd built up with her, had been built on a lie. She looked up at me, her eyes asking for understanding and for forgiveness. I didn't give her any.

And I wasn't smiling at all.

I left her there. I couldn't stay anymore, because the smiles were gone. She was my smile, and that had been a lie. I went home, thanked the Lord my parents weren't home, and I didn't smile again that night. My dreams, when I finally slept, were bad and I might have cried. I don't exactly remember. So this morning, when I woke exhausted and unhappy, I got ready for school the same as I always do. I left late hoping she wouldn't still be waiting for me at the street corner where we normally meet on the way to school. She wasn't there.

And I almost smiled with relief.

Now I'm heading down the hall to my locker, and there they all are. Kurt, Mercedes, and Tina, just like they are every single day. She meets my eyes and there's hurt and pleading and sadness and hope in them. And I think of last night, and all of the ways that she'd come into my life and switched things around on me. I was happy and satisfied before her. Sure, things might have felt better with her, but they also hurt worse.

And even though my heart breaks all over again when I meet her eyes, I fake a smile.

Because maybe, just maybe, if I smile hard enough it will sink into my soul, and then someday it will be real again.


	4. On My Own

AN: Wow, not sure where exactly this one came from...but I'm going to run with it anyway. :)

_"On My Own" Tina-POV, Post-Wheels_

* * *

On My Own

Even though I'm pretty sure he's not going to magically disappear if I'm not there in the next three seconds, I can't help but pick up my pace slightly. There's a little bite of urgency in my stomach, like when you know something bad will happen if you aren't there on time, and I'm not going to risk it. I'm nearly jogging by the time I round the corner, but all of my nerves fade instantly. He's sitting there, fidgeting with his gloves and watching the corner I just turned expectantly. When he sees me, he smiles.

"You came," he says and he sounds both ecstatic and relieved at the same time.

I smile in return, because just seeing him makes me happy, and seeing his smile makes my heart do funny things in my chest. "Of course I did," I say. I walk over and bend to give him a hug. I can smell him, a scent that's so distinctly _him_, and his breath is hot against my shoulder. His arms around me are warm and secure, not like he's desperate never to let go but like he's content to stay that way for as long as we feel like it.

When we finally pull apart, he smiles at me again. It's that soft, sweet, kind of shy but at the same time playful smile that only I ever get to see. "So, you ready to go?" I nod and he flashes me one more smile before turning his chair toward the sidewalk. By instinct, I fall into step right behind him, grabbing the handles of his chair and leaning forward slightly so I can see over his shoulder to his face. He just smiles again, setting his hands in his lap and letting me take over the pushing.

He does most of the talking while we're moving but I prefer it that way. I love just listening to him. His voice is pure and rich and much more expressive than most peoples. Every time he asks a question that he actually expects an answer to, he tilts his head back to look up at me and those bright blue eyes widen even more. After I answer he'll scrunch up his face thoughtfully, honestly considering what I say, and whether he agrees or not he always ends up smiling again.

We end up at the park, and when we stop beside a patch of grass he hands me the blanket that was folded in his lap. I spread it out on the ground and he lets me help him lower himself onto the blanket. He lays down on his back, lacing his hands together behind his head, and I lay on my side next to him.

"It's nice out here, isn't it?" he asks idly and I watch his chest rise as he inhales deeply. It rained this morning, and while everything is mostly dried out, that crisp clean smell is still thick in the air. I take several deep breaths, letting the air cleanse me, and when I open my eyes he's watching me out of the corner of his eye, grinning.

"It is," I agree belatedly. "I'm glad you convinced me to do this."

He smiles, a little smugly this time. "Well I don't want to say 'Told you so,' but…" He trails off, raising an eyebrow, and I laugh.

"Yeah, I know, I know," I say and heave a mock sigh.

This time he's the one laughing. When it fades off, his gaze is more sincere and he says, "I'm really glad you came though. Things have been weird, but it's nice to feel like _us_ again." I'm about to respond when a light breeze picks up and blows a strand of my hair in front of my face, startling me. I sputter at it, and with a grin he reaches over and tucks it behind my ear. The feel of his fingertips brushing on my skin feels sort of like electricity, and I think he must be thinking the same thing because his touch lingers longer than seems necessary.

With an expression of innocent curiosity, he lets his hand travel down my jaw to my chin, and then his thumb moves up to brush across my lips. I can't fight the shiver that travels down my spine and I lean into his touch just a little. His fingers are still curled around the side of my face, and he traces the edges of my lips with his thumbnail. I feel a faint noise in my throat, an indescribable noise I'm sure I've never made before, and as it escapes it parts my lips slightly.

His hand stops and I open my eyes, not having realized I even closed them. He's smiling, but there's a sort of intensity and nervousness in his eyes at the same time. He licks his bottom lip anxiously, and then his hand moves around the back of my neck, putting a little pressure in his fingertips to pull me closer. I obligingly scoot closer, my chest flush with his side. Pleasant chills race through my body at the contact.

"Tee?" His voice is hardly a whisper, hesitant and hopeful all at once. I meet his eyes to show I'm listening, but I'm too caught up in the feel of his hand around the back of my neck, just barely slipping up toward my hair, that I can't fathom a verbal response. He doesn't seem bothered by that. If anything, he looks emboldened. "Can I kiss you?"

My breath catches in my throat for a second. I can tell he's being completely genuine, and his eyes are wide and scared and full of hope as they watch me. He's never kissed me before. I kissed him once, but he hadn't really reciprocated much and nothing had happened since then. But now, his hand is threading further into my hair and he's staring at me with the utmost sincerity. So I nod.

He pushes himself up a little with his other elbow, the hand on my neck pulling me down to meet him in the middle. He hesitates for a half-second and the heat of his breath on my lips coaxes a soft sigh out of me without my meaning to. Then his lips touch mine, softly and tentatively, and it's a mind-reeling experience. It's so different than the first time, with more participation from us both. The hand I'm not using to hold myself up moves to the side of his face, sliding across his cheek and back into his hair. I don't hear the sound, but I can feel the vibration of it in his chest.

It doesn't get deep and steamy, but somehow it still feels like there's just as much passion in it. A sort of honest, pure passion; instead of fire and heat, it's more like light and warmth. When we finally break the kiss, he looks a little flushed but he smiles at me. For once it doesn't feel like we've done something we need to talk about and try to fix, so I just curl up against him, his arm still wrapped around my back and holding me against his side.

I try not to think too much as I lay there, because thinking always makes things become complicated. For now it's just him and me and the cool after the storm and the peace of the evening. I don't want things to be complicated. The simplicity between us, the ease and naturalness that we seem to fit together, is one of the things I love most about us. I nestle my face more comfortably against his chest and listen to the steady throb of his heartbeat.

The breeze kicks up again and I involuntarily shiver. He looks down in concern. "It's cold, we should probably go," he says but I shake my head firmly, putting a hand against his chest to stop him sitting up.

"No, let's just stay here," I say. "Just a little longer. Please." I don't want to leave, because leaving will ruin this moment. If we leave then we'll have to go back to the real world. I want to hang on to this, the peace and the beauty, for as long as I can.

He looks like he's reading my thoughts in my eyes, and then he nods. Letting his head fall back again, he pulls me even more closely to me, wrapping his arms around me tighter. His hands move up and down my bare arms, trying to warm them, and I hook my legs around one of his for the added body heat. We lay like that for what feels like both mere seconds and long hours, and I'm not sure which of them it actually is.

"Tina." He's whispering again, his voice low and quiet. I lift my head from the safe nest of his shoulder to look at him, and there's a whole new level of seriousness in his gaze now. He leans up to kiss me again, one quick, chaste kiss, and then places his face beside mine so his breath is loud against my ear. "I love you."

My heart jumps and my eyes instantly spring open. The darkness of my bedroom is pressing heavily over me, broken only by the glow of my alarm clock that's informing me it's two in the morning. My hand is reaching around me on the mattress, looking for the warmth that had been beside me, around me, but it's gone. My blankets are a twisted knot at the edge of the bed and I'm shivering in the absence of them and the body I had been so sure I'd really felt this time.

But of course I hadn't. He wasn't speaking to me anymore, hadn't said more than empty small talk to me in weeks. It was only a dream. We hadn't spent time curled up together and smelling the rain, I hadn't really felt his touch or his kiss, and he hadn't said those three words that made my heart feel like it might explode.

I close my eyes, trying to reclaim the image of his face as he'd said it, but all of the details are slipping away faster than I can grab at them. His eyes are the only thing I can still picture clearly, that bright blue full of sincerity and hope and perfection. Holding on to that, I whisper into the silent room. "I love you too."

It doesn't matter that I've said it though. Just like it hasn't mattered any other time I've breathed it after waking up from a similar dream. This is the only place I can ever say it, here in the safety of my darkened bedroom alone. Outside of these walls, I have to face the reality that it's a truth I can never say. Even with as angry as I am at him, with how hurt I am over the way he's acting, I do love him. And beyond the world of my dreams, he doesn't return those feelings anymore.

Trying to steady myself, I drag my blankets around myself, wrapping myself in a warm cocoon. I brush my hands over my cheeks, wiping away the tears that have fallen, and then retreat in on myself. I close my eyes and seek out that place again, that world where I can love him and he can love me and I'm not alone.


	5. Take a Bow

AN: Different version of events here I've been wanting to write for a while and never did it. Really short, sorry. And I've been experimenting with second person recently, and I really liked the way it felt in this fic so I left it instead of converting it back to first like usual.

_"Take a Bow" – Tina POV, Post-Wheels_

* * *

Take a Bow

You keep walking, trying to ignore the voice from behind you even though every syllable that you attempt to block out feels like a knife in your chest. You sort of wish you're wearing more sensible shoes, so you can run and get away, but you have to settle for a brisk walk that he can unfortunately keep up with.

"Tina, would you just stop and _listen_ to me?" he asks and you're slightly gratified to hear how heavily he's breathing trying to catch up to you. His voice is desperate, pleading, but you ignore that and don't stop.

"God, Tina, please? Give me a chance here," he says and you feel your frown harden.

"You mean like how you gave me a chance?" you answer waspishly without looking back at him, picking up your pace a little.

He makes a noise of frustration but you can still hear the sound of his wheels behind you. A woman you pass on the sidewalk gives you both a weird look but you ignore her. "Look, I screwed up, okay?" he says and you can tell he's getting annoyed. "I messed up last night. I shouldn't have left. I overreacted. I was _wrong_. Is that what you want to hear? Are you happy now?"

This finally makes you stop and you pivot on your heel so quickly he barely has the time to prevent himself from taking out your legs. You let a dangerous scowl fix on your face and you see him flinch back when he meets your eye. "No, I'm not _happy_ now," you say bitterly. "I trusted you, Artie. I thought that you of all people would at least hear me out. And I thought that you cared about me enough to see that there's so much more to me than my stutter."

You can feel your eyes burning and you blink rapidly, pushing the sensation away. You won't give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry, even if no amount of make-up can hide the fact that that's what you spent most of your night doing. "I thought that you really cared about me. I thought that we had something real. But you don't like me. You like the girl who has a disability and the girl who was only with you because neither of you could do better. I'm not her, Artie."

His face looks pained, almost pathetically so, and he doesn't even try to disguise the fact that his eyes are moist when he lets them drop away from your face. "I'm sorry," he says miserably.

For a minute, one singular minute, you almost believe him. Then you remember the night before, the way he turned away from you and how he scorned you and hurt you. "No you're not," you say and he looks up at you in surprise. "You're not sorry, because you meant every word you said last night. We both know _you_ never lie."

He looks like you've slapped him, but you simply turn and walk away. You're done with him. He only loved your stutter, not who you are. And even though the desperate cry of "Tina," from behind you breaks your heart all over again, you're at least a strong enough person to know that you deserve better than that.


	6. Imagine

AN: Lots of angst recently, decided it was about time you got something nicer again. Super fluff.

_"Imagine" - Artie POV, post-Sectionals. Pre-established Artie/Tina relationship_

* * *

Imagine

Tina pouted, wrinkling up her nose, and combed her fingers through her wet hair one more time. "I still smell like orange," she whined grumpily.

I leaned closer and inhaled. "Not really," I argued, shaking my head. "You must still have slushie in your nose, because I can't smell it." She looked at me for a minute and then finally smiled. "Now c'mere, you are not laying down on this bed until your hair is drier," I said and held up the hand towel pointedly. "Not after what happened last time. Your hair retains water too well."

"Don't be such a baby," she replied but nudged one of my legs out of the way so she could sit down between them on the bed, turning her back to me. I took a fistful of her hair and began squeezing excess water out of it with the hand towel.

"You're not the one that had to explain to Mom why the waistband of my jeans was wet," I pointed out and I could tell by the way her shoulders were shaking that she was trying not to laugh. I blushed just thinking about the implications that one had brought up. "You laid there on purpose, just to make my life difficult, didn't you? It's very hard to say, 'oh, my pants are only wet because my girlfriend fell asleep with her head there,' and make it sound innocent."

"But it _was_ innocent," she said. "Not my fault your pants were hiked up so high on your stomach. She doesn't trust us much, does she?"

"Only about as far as I can walk," I responded with a laugh. "At least since that time she walked in on us." My cheeks burned at the memory and I could see that Tina's ears had gone red too even as she giggled. Having your mom come in unannounced during a make out session that involved some mild groping does not earn any goodie points.

"You're really good at this," she said abruptly and I paused in drying out her hair to glance over her shoulder questioningly. "With my hair, I mean. When Mercedes does it my scalp aches for hours afterward."

I snorted. "Yeah well 'Mercedes' and 'aggressive' are sort of synonymous." I tucked the dried hair over her shoulder out of the way and kept working. "Besides, I have experience with all this hair stuff."

At this Tina burst out into laughter. "Artie, your idea of hair styling is when you use the hand driers in the bathrooms as a blow dryer."

I whipped her in the shoulder with the hand towel, rolling my eyes. "I didn't mean with my hair," I explained. "I do have a baby sister, remember? And you know firsthand just how sensitive she is about her hair." Tina nodded in agreement. And then just because I knew it would make her laugh again, I muttered, "And I like my hairstyle, thank you very much."

As predicted, she laughed and turned to face me. "I know, I like your hair too," she said, running her fingers through it. I tried really hard not to let my expression change when her fingernails dragged slowly across my scalp, but I must have failed slightly because she smirked. Then before I could decide whether or not I liked that look, she ruffled my hair teasingly.

"Hey, cut it out," I said indignantly, batting her hand away with a huff as I tried to fix the damage. When I was finished I looked back up at her again and she had combed her hair back with her fingers, and in several swift practiced movements she had folded it all into a tight braid and was already securing it with the elastic on her wrist.

"What?" she asked at my curious glance.

"I thought you hated doing that when your hair's wet," I said. "Something about the way it gets all - _crimpy_? Was that the word?"

She smiled and shrugged. "I don't really care right now, I can fix it later. I'm going to end up having to take another shower when I go home anyway." I raised an eyebrow. "I still smell like orange."

"If you say so," I humored her. She turned around again and leaned back against my chest, and I tossed the hand towel away to wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her closer. "Even though I don't know how you can, considering how many times you've washed your hair since it happened."

"Only twice," she countered. She sighed heavily, lacing her hands in mine and tugging my arms tighter around her. "I'm getting pretty sick of having to take two and three showers a day, you know."

"Yeah, I know," I agreed, nodding against the back of her head. Despite Mr. Schue's assurances, winning competitions hadn't actually done much for our social standings. We were all still receiving slushie facials at least once a week.

"I kind of wish they didn't have any reason to slushie us sometimes," she said quietly.

"You mean you wish we weren't the cripple and the goth?"

Tina nudged her elbow back into my ribs. "Don't call yourself that," she said in exasperation. "You know I don't like it when you say that."

"Okay fine," I said, rolling my eyes and laughing. "You mean you wish we weren't _wheelchair nerd_ and the goth?"

"Don't you?" she asked, determinedly ignoring my attempt to annoy her.

I paused thoughtfully and then shook my head. "No, not really." She glanced sideways at me in surprise. "It wouldn't really change anything. I mean, they'd still find some reason to go at us. Well, you maybe. We both know if I wasn't in the chair I would be a total stud." Tina snorted in amusement and I made a noise of mock protest. "Okay, so I'd probably still be a nerd. Ergo, slushie."

She sighed and nodded again, leaning her head back into my shoulder. "But don't you ever think about what things would be like if we were normal?"

"Occasionally," I admitted. "It would probably be nice, not having to turn the school restrooms into personal spas every couple days. Not having to remember to pack a change of clothes to keep in my locker. But then I think about what I'd have to give up to be normal. The chair; eh, no huge loss there although I've admittedly grown fond of the LED." Tina giggled appreciatively. "Oh, and the fact that it puts my face level with a lot of skirts." She elbowed me again. "I'm kidding," I added quickly before she could get me again. "Just a joke."

"You better get back to your point soon, wheelie boy," Tina threatened without any real malice, and I smiled as I put a hasty kiss on her temple before starting up again.

"Well, I also wouldn't be in jazz band or Glee, since neither of those is exactly cool," I continued. "At least not by the school's hierarchy standards. My opinion on cool doesn't count, as Kurt informs me on an almost daily basis." Tina laughed quietly and I could feel her hand slip around to finger one of my suspenders. "What else would I have to give up? Oh, the crazy gothic girlfriend would definitely have to go." Her fingers slipped on the suspender and I winced as it snapped slightly against my stomach, not hard enough to hurt but enough to get the point across. "Which would be _very_ _bad_," I said, stressing the words. "Give me time to finish before you attack me. You're being particularly abusive today."

She just laughed, shifting slightly against my chest to get her head to a more comfortable spot. "Yeah, I guess you've got a good point," she said. "About the things you'd have to give up, I mean. Not about the abuse. You deserved that."

"Thanks," I said, pretending to be unenthusiastic. She giggled and it was pretty hard to even fake being annoyed with her after that. "But I've accepted that the jocks are just going to keep coming after us until we stumble into an alternate reality Utopia where labels and disabilities and eccentric clothing styles don't matter."

Tina nodded and we slipped into silence for a moment, and then she started humming a familiar song under her breath. I couldn't help but laugh. "And she breaks the serious moment with John Lennon," I said in awe, shaking my head and drawing my arms tighter around her. "See, now _that_ is why I love you." The moment the words left my lips I realized what I'd said and my entire face felt like it was on fire. I felt Tina tense slightly in my arms, and then she let out a breathy laugh and let her head fall back into my shoulder again.

"Yeah, I know," she said casually and I almost breathed a sigh of relief, glad she wasn't going to pursue the fact that I had just let that L word slip for the first time. "So you're just going to keep being okay with the fact that we're bottom of the totem pole?"

I laughed and shrugged. "No point making a big deal about it, it won't change anything," I said. Then I smirked and lowered my head to the side of her neck, trying not to laugh when I rubbed the tip of my nose against her skin and she quivered. "Besides," I whispered, placing a kiss on a soft spot in her neck and grinning as her hand tightened in mine slightly. I inhaled deeply, pointedly, and finished, "I really like the smell of oranges."

Tina laughed once before she realized what I'd said and froze. "Wait, I thought you said I didn't smell like oranges anymore," she said indignantly, pulling out of my arms so she could twist and face me. I just bit my lip, unsuccessfully holding in my laughter. "Artie, you prat!" And then she seized the nearest pillow and brought it down on my head.

Yeah, I'd thought about what things could be like if I were normal. But as I vainly tried to defend myself while my psycho Asian goth of a girlfriend beat me up with a pillow, I decided I still liked this better.


	7. Somebody to Love

AN: I've had this written for two days, sorry I haven't been able to post yet. Yesterday I spent the whole day helping a pregnant friend pack up her house to move, and today I went to the eye doctor and until about an hour ago my eyes were too dilated to be able to stare at a computer screen. Stupid eye doctors. Also this chapter is a little different than my normal characterizations, but I love the idea of the bold, strong, not so much confident but definitely opinionated Tina that we see in the pilot, and I've wanted to explore that side of her more.

_"Somebody to Love" – Artie point-of-view, pre-series_

* * *

Somebody to Love

I turned away from my locker, and my frown of concentration quickly shifted into a different sort of frown. Just a few feet to my left, a guy had cornered his girlfriend against the lockers, and whatever he was whispering in her ear while sliding his hand around her waist had made her break out into giggles. I barely bit back a noise of disgust and slammed my locker door shut before heading down the hall. I tried to keep my eyes trained ahead of me and my brain focused on my upcoming class, but it seemed like every few feet there was another pair of them. Couples holding hands, or beaming at each other, or hugging before going to separate classes, or cramming their tongues down each others' throats. I really didn't want to pay attention to them, but it was like each pair was glowing neon, drawing my eyes to them.

I admittedly knew why my head was so fixated on couples. The night before my older brother had called to announce that he was engaged. I was excited for him, I really was, but at the same time I couldn't help but feel a little more alone. My dreams last night had been uneasy and taunting. As I got ready for school in the morning I scowled at my reflection. I saw a high school freshman, a nice teenage boy for whom dating should have been expected and anticipated. Unfortunately I also saw a paraplegic outcast, which meant that getting a girl to give me the time of day was hard enough, let alone get one to go out on a date with me. Unless it was out of pity, of course, but I refused to play the pity card just to score a date. I was at least above that.

So instead I had spent all of my morning being distracted by every single couple in William McKinley High School, and my natural good mood was wearing very thin. I almost groaned aloud when, on the way to my fourth period, I found my way suddenly blocked by three very large guys in letterman's jackets.

"Hey there, Lead Legs," the one in the front said with a smirk.

"Morning," I replied grimly, swallowing back the urge to comment on the cleverness of the new nickname.

"Why you looking so sad?" the jock pressed, and his friends laughed. "We caught you eyeballin' those girls down the hall. What you doin', Cripple, trying to find a girl desperate enough to lay a charity case?" My jaw clenched instinctively but I tried not to show anymore reaction than that. I must not have succeeded as much as I thought I did, because the jocks just laughed again. "Yeah, that's right, Dead Legs, you know it's true. There's not a girl at this school crazy enough to go for a cripple. Not even the freakiest chicks in this place would be into a loser like you."

"Piss off," I said before I could stop myself, and I instantly regretted it the moment the words left my mouth. So much for not letting them know that what they were saying actually bothered me. The jocks exchanged grins and I knew I'd just metaphorically stepped in it.

"Not even a _friendly_ freak," one of the jocks said, making them all laugh.

"You know, you're right," the front jock said. "You oughta be nicer, Cripple. You shouldn't get so worked up. Why don't you just – _chill out_?"

I should have seen it coming. I knew they did these sorts of things, and I'd seen it happen to a girl in my year just last week. At the same time, I'm not sure that any amount of forethought could have prepared me for the feeling of that ice cold corn syrup hitting my face. I involuntarily gasped, which just got me a mouthful of the stuff that I almost choked on, and my forehead pounded with an instantaneous brain freeze.

There was a moment of absolute silence as I realized what happened, and my senses were completely devoted to the slushie running down my face. Then finally I caught the sound of the jocks laughing, and what sounded like several more people joining in with them, and my face started burning in humiliation. As if being wheelchair kid wasn't bad enough, now I was wheelchair kid dripping with convenience store drink, in front of an audience of people.

"W-what the hell was that?" Someone shouted indignantly, but I couldn't see who it was. The slushie that had been dumped over my head had rolled down behind my glasses and I jerked them off, rubbing the syrupy drink out of my eyes. Whatever was happening was making the jocks laugh harder though. "You c-can't just go around throwing d-d-drinks at people. What's wrong with y-you?"

"Listen to this," one of the jocks jeered. "The little stutterfly has backbone." There was a lot of laughter at this one. I kept my head bowed, looking around desperately for a clean spot on my clothes that I could wipe my glasses on, but I wasn't having any luck. Turned out, having slushie dropped on your head while you're sitting means widespread coverage.

"M-more than you do," the person said. It sounded like it might be a girl but I couldn't be sure because the voice was pretty low and dangerous sounding. And I think I had slushie in my ears. The people in the hall made daring noises of 'oooh' at the comment.

"You're lucky we don't have another slushie," the jock said and he sounded a little bit angry. "You just watch yourself, freak." The bell rang before anything more could happen and I could hear everyone heading off in different directions for classes. Something big passed right beside me, hitting my chair and making me spin in a half circle, and the jock's voice spat out bitterly, "Watch it, Dead Legs."

My eyes were burning, but I blamed that solely on the corn syrup in them. It definitely didn't have anything to do with what that jock had said to me, or the fact that he was right. I knew that girls weren't exactly interested in me, hell they wouldn't come within feet of me if they didn't have to. Even the ones that got called freaks and geeks and losers didn't waste their time on me. I groaned as I wiped another handful of slushie off my face and tossed it angrily at the floor.

"Y-you okay?"

I twitched in surprise, because I'd thought I was alone in the hallway. There was a squeak of shoes coming closer, and then I could see a blur of black come around in front of me. The voice was definitely female. "Fine," I said off-handedly, returning to searching for a way to clean my glasses.

"Here, l-let me." Before I could say anything, a warm hand had taken my glasses and after a minute they were pushed back onto my face, lenses a little streaked but clear enough to see again. "Better?"

I blinked a few times and then took in the sight in front of me. It was most certainly a girl, a pretty Asian with little slanting eyes and curtains of black hair. She was wearing a black and purple dress, and a necklace with a key on it, and neon purple eyeshadow. When she met my eyes she smiled brightly, a normal natural sort of smile that didn't have the usual pity behind it like other peoples' did when they looked at me, and I felt my breath catch in my chest.

"Yeah," I said, a bit distractedly. "Much."

Her smile widened a little, making her eyes crinkle up in the corners. "C'mon, let me help you get c-cl-cleaned off," she said and once again, before I could do anything about it, she had stepped behind me and my chair was moving.

"You don't have to do that," I said quickly.

"I kn-know," she answered simply and kept going. My heart thumped a bit when she pushed me straight towards a girls' bathroom, but she brushed aside my protest by saying, "It's f-fine, everyone's in classes right now." She didn't even hesitate in pushing me straight through the door. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the room really was empty.

"You don't have to do this," I said, when she rolled me toward the sinks.

"I know," she repeated. "I just have m-math, it's not like I want to be there. Besides, it looks like you c-could use a hand." She dampened a few paper towels and handed them to me, letting me wipe the rest of the slush off my face. "W-what were they teasing you about?"

I looked up at her in surprise as she perched herself on one of the sinks and watched me curiously. There was a genuine interest in her eyes, not a hint of that familiar pity or the pressing determination my mom got when she questioned me. For a moment, one wildly surprising moment, I almost contemplated telling her the truth. And then I realized what I was thinking, grinned, and said, "They're just jealous of me and my mad skills."

The girl smirked, tilting her head as she stared at me. "I b-bet," she humored me.

"I've never seen you before," I said, eyeing her and affirming that I had no idea who she was. Besides, I was pretty sure I would have heard if there was a kid with a stutter in the school, all the freaks and geeks tended to know each other somehow, even if they didn't all associate with me much. "Are you new?"

"Just m-moved in this year," she answered. I was running my fingers through my hair, scraping off the red slush that was still stuck to it, and I grimaced at the sticky feeling. "H-here, lemme help you," she said and leapt down off the sink. I had to admit I was impressed she didn't break an ankle doing it in those boots. Before I had the chance to say I was fine and that I could handle it (I noticed this was becoming a pattern with her), she'd grabbed my chair by the armrests and swiveled me so my back was to the sinks, and nestled my chair right up against one.

"L-lean your head back," she said as she turned on the water. I stared at her in shock. "I'm n-not gonna hurt you," she added, laughing, and when I didn't immediately comply she put her hand on my forehead and pushed gently until the back of my head was resting on the edge of the sink. For a moment I was too distracted by the fact that my skin felt like it was on fire where she'd touched me to realize what exactly she was doing.

She cupped water in her hands and let it pour out over my hair, every once and a while slipping her fingers through it to move it around. I tried really hard not to concentrate on the feel of that, or that my stomach was doing weird sorts of twists. I couldn't help but let myself enjoy it a bit though; it's not like I had girls touch me often, except when they accidently elbowed me in the head in the halls. This felt really good.

It took me a while to notice that she was humming under her breath while she worked, and a lot longer than it normally would for me to place the song. "Radiohead?" I asked and she just smiled and nodded in response, not stopping in the song. "Good choice." I just listened to her humming for a little longer, and then when she'd finished the song I added, "You're really good at this." She raised a curious eyebrow so I pointed up at my hair.

"I like doing hair," she admitted and I glanced up at her in surprise because this confident statement had come out completely stutter-free. "It's f-fun. I did these m-myself," she said, touching one of the bright blue stripes in her hair. She straightened up and nodded. "Okay, I think that's as g-good as it'll get."

I lifted my head and shivered when I felt water drip down the back of my neck. Smiling, I shook my head roughly, sending water everywhere, and she squeaked and took several hasty steps away before breaking down in giggles.

"I w-was going to grab you some p-paper towels," she said when I stopped, but she was still laughing. "That's a n-nice look on you." I glanced over my shoulder to the mirror and grinned at the way my hair was sticking up. I combed my fingers through the mess until I'd managed to make it lie flat again, and it was nice that most of the stickiness had gone.

The girl was drying her hands off on some paper towels as I looked down at myself and tried to rub a pinkish spot out of my shirt, which was a pretty pointless task since at least half of my white dress shirt was now vaguely red. Mom was going to kill me when she saw that.

"I c-can't decide if you look like you s-survived a horror movie, or just like someone threw a r-red sock in your wash," she said with a laugh, and I joined her.

"Yeah, this shirt might be a lost cause," I agreed. "I think I'm going to have to remember to keep a change of clothes in my locker from now on, if this is how high school is going to go."

"Probably a g-good idea," she said and I caught her eyeing my shirt thoughtfully. Then she stripped off her jacket and offered it toward me. "H-here, you can use this."

"What? Oh, no, it's okay," I said hastily, a little alarmed when I realized my cheeks were getting hot.

"It's f-fine, I don't really need it anyway," she said, offering it even more insistently. I bit my lip hesitantly and she rolled her eyes. "It'll be better than w-wearing that smelly wet _pink_ shirt all day," she said reasonably and I had to smile that she put the biggest emphasis on the color and not the sickly-sweet smell or that it was cold and damp.

I hesitated for a minute longer, but she was giving me a really pointed look and honestly, with the determination on her face I had a feeling she could very easily just force the thing on me. She acted sweet enough for the most part, but I couldn't deny that she still presented a pretty intimidating image.

Sighing heavily, I took the jacket from her and set it in my lap before starting on the buttons of my shirt. After two I paused and glanced at her self-consciously. Sure, I was wearing a teeshirt underneath, but that didn't mean I didn't feel weird about undressing in front of her. She seemed to catch the hint because she went over to the sinks and made a show of washing her hands. Once I'd gotten out of my dress shirt, which I stowed in my backpack, I awkwardly slipped into the jacket and zipped it up partway. It was a little snug around my shoulders, and the sleeves were a bit short so I pushed them up to my elbows, but other than that it fit pretty well.

"L-looks good," she said with a nod, coming around to face me again. "You should go casual m-more often."

The question that had been burning in my mind since I'd first heard her voice in the hallway suddenly leapt from me. "Why'd you do it?"

"C-compliment you?" she asked in confusion.

"No, stand up to that jock," I clarified. "You didn't need to do that."

"You k-keep saying that," she pointed out with a small smile.

"It wasn't like it changed anything, and now you've just put yourself on their radar," I continued, ignoring her comment. "You heard them; they'll be coming after you next. It'll be lucky if you don't end up with a slushie of your own before the end of the day."

"Someone needed to s-say something," she said with a shrug, tilting her head slightly so that her hair was half-covering her face. "We shouldn't just stand aside and l-l-let them get away with things like th-that."

"Because I'm in a wheelchair?" I asked, successfully managing to hide my bitterness at the remark.

She looked up with wide eyes and said, "Y-you are?" For a moment I thought she was serious and I was going to question her mental stability, and then I saw the faint curl at the corner of her lips. "That doesn't matter; no one deserves to be t-treated like that."

I could only stare at her, because I could tell she was completely serious. She would have jumped up in front of those jocks even if I was just a normal guy. Even if I could stand up for myself. This girl wasn't afraid to be who she was and say what she thought, regardless of what everyone else thought of her. I smiled, a real smile. "Have I said thanks yet? Because if not I feel like a total jerk."

"I don't think you h-have," she said, grinning. "Guess that m-makes you a jerk."

"Well it's belated, but thank you," I said sincerely, and then added, "For all of it."

"No p-problem," she said. Then she picked up the messenger bag she'd dropped by the door and slung it over her shoulder. "Want to hide out in the l-library with me for the rest of period? There's no point going to c-class now, it's half over."

"What if a teacher catches us?" I asked nervously.

"We'll say you're t-tutoring me," she said easily, giving me a daring look. "Live a l-little." I grinned and nodded, and she held the door for me as I rolled out into the hall. Once we were out, she stepped up behind my chair again and began pushing. It was odd for me, because I wasn't really comfortable with other people being in control of the chair, but I knew by that point there was no use in arguing with her. Besides, she did a good job of not going too fast or turning too sharp or stopping too quickly.

We were just outside the library when I realized something and I tilted my head back to look at her. "My name's Artie, by the way."

She glanced down and smiled. "T-tina," she replied. We spent the rest of the hour at a table in the back of the library, covertly shuffling through her music player when the librarian wasn't looking. I liked the way I felt around her. It wasn't like she didn't see my chair, she made comments about the color and poked fun at the faded music note sticker on the left arm that I couldn't bring myself to scrape off. It was more like she just didn't care. I knew instantly that we would become friends.

And when at some point she reached over and touched my arm to get my attention, smiling at me as she said something about the song, I felt a funny little twist in my stomach. It might not be today, or tomorrow, or even a year from now, but I had a very distinct feeling that Tina the gothic stuttering Asian transfer student might be someone I could love, and who might actually be capable of loving me back. Someday.

For now though, I was content with what we had.

* * *

AN: You know you're too devoted to your fanfics when you drive down to the nearest 7-11 and let your little sister slushie you so you can correctly write the sensation. Chris Colfer's description of it was definitely a hole-in-one. (If you don't know what I mean by that, watch the Behind the Glee for episode eight.)


	8. Crush

AN: Just sort of a drabble, but it was a lot of fun to write. :) And I'm really glad that you guys enjoyed my slushie experiment. Like I told some of you, it was admittedly worse than when I let my friends duct tape me to a flag pole while writing When You're Broken. Except that pulling duct tape off your eyes burns just as much as having corn syrup splashed in them. Glee should have come with one of those "don't try this at home" disclaimers.

_"Crush" – Tina point-of-view, at least pre-"Wheels"_

* * *

Crush

I do _not_ get crushes. Crushes are for silly, air-brained girly girls that wear sequined jeans and glittery make-up and pass the time by Googling about their latest celebrity dream boys. Crushes are not for goth girls that wear chains and fishnet gloves and heavy eye make-up and spend their evenings listening to rock music and guitar solos. I don't get crushes.

And yet when I see him across the room and he's smiling, I smile too. Even his corniest jokes make me laugh.

I bounce on the balls of my feet anxiously when I wait for him to show up in the mornings, and don't relax until I see him coming. Whenever he's not at school, I feel lost without him beside me.

He touches my arm to get my attention and it makes my skin tingle and I wish he'd never let go. That shy little smile makes my stomach sort of flutter, and when he's so excited his smile is open-mouthed, my heart flies.

When we're alone and he's singing, letting me be the first to hear the new song he's learning to play, my insides feel like they're melting into goo. I find myself over-thinking every little thing he does, trying to figure out if it means something more, or if it is just simply a smile or a wave or a joke.

I kind of look forward to saying good-bye for the evening, because then I can hug him. And it almost makes me wish I had more reasons to cry because it feels so good when he pulls me down onto his lap to hold me and comfort me.

Whenever he says my name, that special nickname that only he ever calls me, it sort of seems like my stomach is full of a swarm of butterflies on crack.

"Hey Tee!" I turn around so quickly I nearly trip over my own feet. There he is, coming down the hall toward me, and I'm a bit caught up in those blue eyes and that smile. My insides feel like they've all jumped skywards.

"H-hey Artie," I answer when he stops next to me.

"I'm glad I found you," he says and beams up at me. "Were you still coming over after school today? I've been working on that guitar solo from that AC/DC song you like, and I think I might finally almost have it down, but I need to you judge and tell me what you think."

"Really? That's c-cool," I say. All my mind can think is _he learned it because I like it. _Does that mean what I think?

I feel his touch on my arm and I look down in surprise. "Tee, you okay? You seem a bit spacey today." He's frowning a bit, his eyes wide in concern and a focused little line carved down between his eyebrows.

"F-f-fine," I say, smiling. Instantly his smile comes back. "Just t-tired."

"We can stop for ice cream on the way to my house if that will wake you up," he offers and there's something playful in his smile now. He knows I can't resist ice cream. I nod eagerly, and he looks proud of his suggestion. "Great. Anyway, I'd love to stay and chat but I'm supposed to be going to Mr. Richardson's to talk to him about jazz band. I just wanted to find you first. So I'll see you later, okay?"

"L-later," I agree and he grins at me one more time before heading off. I lean against my locker and watch him go. At the end of the hall he looks back over his shoulder and when he sees me looking his way, he tosses me a smile and waves. He waits until I wave back before he rounds the corner and disappears.

Okay, so maybe I do have feelings for my best friend. I'm still not calling it a 'crush.' I put my hand over the spot on my arm he'd touched and smile. A tiny, happy sigh escapes me. Tina Cohen-Chang does not get crushes.

Except maybe when Artie Abrams is involved…


	9. Bootylicious

AN: Oh man, I might have gone just a little crazy with this one. But a few of you asked for some "Artie crushing on Tina" and I try to follow suggestions. I originally hadn't intended to write anything for this song, but it just fit too well. On that note, if there's a song request any of you would like for me to write next, feel free to say so. I have no real rhyme or reason to the patterns here (except that I'm trying to alternate each chapter between Artie and Tina, but even that's not set in stone).

_"Bootylicious" – Artie point-of-view, set during 1x02 "Showmance"_

* * *

Bootylicious

My hand slips on the zipper pull of my sweater as I look up at Rachel Berry in shock. "Wait, you want me to do _what_?"

"I am quite positive in the assumption that you heard and comprehended my instructions the first time I vocalized them," Rachel replies pointedly.

"You didn't mention anything about this while we were rehearsing yesterday," I say by way of a feeble argument.

"This is a very rushed production, and I warned you beforehand that all of our choreography is subject to change," Rachel answers. The way she rambles off these things in such perfectly measured tones makes it sound like she's practiced and rehearsed them before.

"So you're changing things _now_?" I ask, feeling a bit of hysteria that has nothing so much to do with the When and more to do with the What. "We're going on in like five minutes."

"I made the decision last night but I have yet to acquire contact numbers from my fellow Glee clubbers and I was left with no way to inform you until this moment," Rachel says indifferently. "Improvisation and quick study are talents crucial to the rising performer. You should take this as an opportunity to further your skills in this field."

I open my mouth to argue again but Kurt cut across me by loudly saying, "For goodness' sake, you just have to smack Tina's ass. It's not that complicated, Artie."

Except it _is_ that complicated. For the most part I've been okay with this provocative dance that Rachel's thrown together last minute, but this is sort of crossing a line into serious awkwardness. They are asking me to slap my best friend's ass. The best friend I just happen to be seriously attracted to. Ergo, smacking best friend/crush's ass equals complicated. Making it through this dance number while watching her be all _hot_ is difficult enough, but this? I involuntarily gulp.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and I don't have to look up to know who it is. "K-kurt's right, it's not that b-b-big a deal," Tina says. I kind of wish she'd argued at least a little, because her giving me permission to do something like this so willingly is not helping me stay focused. "It's j-just a dance move, right?"

I glance up at her and she's eyeing my expectantly. She's trying to keep her expression casual, but I can tell she's nervous. Is she secretly against this idea? Is the thought of me touching her like that what's making her so nervous? Oh God, why do I have a feeling this dance could totally ruin our friendship? "Um, yeah, right," I agree distractedly. "Just a dance move."

Rachel Berry beams. "Precisely." She finishes explaining the changes to the choreography, which thankfully don't include any more unexpected sadistic or masochistic sexual attacks, and then before I can even come up with another attempt to get out if it, she's hurrying off to 'help' Finn with a dance move.

I look up at Tina again and she's staring at the far wall, chewing on the inside of her cheek. "You okay?"

She jumps and then glances down at me. "Just n-nervous," she admits with a faint smile. "This is our f-f-first performance."

"Yeah and we get to do a dance that sort of makes me feel like I should go to confession," I add and she laughs, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "Who knew someone who generally behaves like a five-year-old could come up with stuff like this? I'm starting to think there's a whole other side to Rachel that every man might want to meet." Tina rolls her eyes but I manage to move out of the way fast enough to dodge the smack she swings at the back of my head.

The nerves that had left when I made her laugh are back and I pull my bottom lip between my teeth for a second. "You sure you're okay with this? I can have temporary amnesia if it will make this easier for you. I'm pretty sure even Rachel won't _kill_ a kid in a wheelchair if I mess up a little."

Tina smiles at that. "N-no, it's okay," she says. I wait patiently because I can tell she wants to say more. "I just d-don't know if I can r-r-really pull of being s-sexy," she admits quietly, blushing.

My brain is screaming a very fervent disagreement with her statement, but I somehow manage to keep that back when I speak. "Trust me, Tee, you can do this," I say, as sincerely as I can while still smiling. "If you do it half as well as you did in rehearsal yesterday, we'll all escape slushies for the next month because the entire male population of this school will be too preoccupied with fixing what you've done to their pants." The moment I finish I feel my face heating up and I inwardly slap myself. _What the hell did I just say?_ Infamous Abrams word-vomit. Great, because this whole thing wasn't awkward enough to begin with.

Tina is blushing bright red too, and she tilts her head, hiding behind her hair. I'm just about to try and scramble out an apology for the lack of a filtering system between my brain and mouth when I hear her giggle. Struck dumb by this, I just sort of stare at her in shock. "Thanks, Artie," she says, lifting her head again so I can see that she's smiling through her blush. I almost breathe a sigh of relief that my bizarre encouragement hasn't sent her running for the hills. "And if anyone is g-going to basically molest me on s-s-stage, I'm glad it's my best f-friend."

That sigh of relief gets stuck in my throat, right next to my heart and my stomach. Oh God, did she have to put it that way? "Anytime," I say but my voice cracks up a half-octave. And then I blush even more when I realize the implication of what I just said. Molest her on stage _anytime_? This is not helping. Thankfully Tina must think I'm joking because even though her ears turn red, she just giggles again.

I'm saved from saying anything more detrimental to my sanity and our friendship by Rachel hurrying over to tell us that it's time to set for the routine. As we get up onto the stage, Finn and one of the stagehands hauling me up, I can tell that we're all nervous. On her way across the stage, Tina slows down a bit to smile at me and we give each other reassuring nods.

I have to stop myself from watching her walk away. After years of being forced to stare at them, I've sort of desensitized myself to butts. All of that is going out the window right now. In the three years we've been friends, I think I've only ever seen Tina wear denim jeans maybe four times, and one of those was last week when we did "Don't Stop Believin'." I have to say, she definitely makes them look good.

There's a moment of blinding panic when the curtains open, and I realize that the entire student body is sitting out there watching us. Then the music starts and I forget all of that. When my little solo comes up, I've managed to mask myself in my character. Enough so, at least, that I only once forget myself and turn to look at the jean pockets that I know belong to my best friend, and that are currently bouncing only inches from my face. Did I mention that it looks really good? Because it does.

Tina meets my eye several times during the song, and I can tell she's one-hundred percent in character. She smiles at me, but her eyes have a low burning spark in them. And even though I know she's only acting, those looks do _really_ crazy things to my head.

It's easy to feed off her energy though, and seeing her like that makes me feel less uncomfortable with what we're doing. By the time the ass-slap approaches, I've forgotten all thoughts of right or wrong, best friend or sex goddess, and awkwardness or naturalness. My enthusiasm in the move must surprise her a little (it certainly surprises me) because I see her break character for the briefest second. Then she just bites her bottom lip and smirks at me before slipping seamlessly back into the choreography. Yeah, that's a facial expression I'm not going to be forgetting any time soon.

I have to shut my brain off completely as we move into the next part. Putting my head that close to her crotch is awkward, and her putting her face that close to my lap is – something else entirely. Sometimes being a teenage boy really complicates things.

The song ends and the lights go up. I'm immediately reminded we've been performing this for an audience and terror curls in my stomach, creeping up over that funny warmth that I'm sure has something to do with the girl behind me. I feel one of Tina's hands slip down off the handle of my chair and onto my shoulder, squeezing it nervously. Just like that she's transformed from Seductress Tina back into Best Friend Tina. In a way, it's both disheartening and comforting.

Someone, I can't see who through the lights, shouts enthusiastically, and then suddenly everyone is cheering and yelling. I can see the other Glee clubbers smiling in relief, and behind me I hear Tina let out an energized squeal. I don't even have time to look back at her before she bends over, slipping her arms down over my shoulders and hugging me from behind. "We did it!" she says in my ear, her voice a full octave higher in her excitement.

"Yeah, we did," I say, grinning simply because she's so happy. I can tell her confidence must be through the roof (as if I hadn't guessed that already) because she isn't stuttering. "See, I told you, you could pull it off."

"Thanks to you," Tina replies, hugging me tighter before standing up. I spin around and we all head off the stage. Even while I'm listening to Tina and Mercedes rambling off eagerly about the performance as we make our way back to the choir room, I can't help but let myself relive the dance a little. That's the closest thing I've ever gotten to any action in my life, and the fact that it was with Tina is a _huge_ added bonus.

Giggling, Tina and Mercedes bust out in a few of the dance moves as they're walking and I hang back just slightly, letting my eyes linger on my best friend.

_Note to self: Send Rachel Berry's choreography muse a fruit basket or something._


	10. Taking Chances

AN: Yes, folks, I am actually back sort of. The serious lack of Artie/Tina-ness in Season 2 has left me with major withdrawals, so to compensate I'm trying to kick-start this project again. No promises on speedy updates, but I am going to work on it.

_"Taking Chances" - Tina-POV, set during the beginning of the pilot._

* * *

Taking Chances

Tina hesitated around the corner, watching him curiously. It felt strange, almost kind of stalkerish, but she couldn't bring herself to walk away, or even look away. He was simply sitting there, staring up at the sheet of white paper with a sort of thoughtful intensity that made his forehead furrow. The pen he was holding in his right hand was tapping out a rhythm against the armrest of his chair, one that she recognized but couldn't place.

_This is ridiculous_, she told herself, lowering her gaze to the linoleum floor beneath her boots. What was she thinking? She didn't know anything about this guy. Honestly, she wasn't even positive that she knew his name. She'd heard him called a couple different things, but since she figured his parents wouldn't be cruel enough to call him Wheels or Dead-Legs, she reasoned that his name might be Artie. Unless that was some sort of jock joke that she just didn't understand too.

They'd never actually even spoken before. She didn't know what he was like or who his friends were or if would ever be interested in a girl like her. Or if he was even into girls. What she did know was that every time he passed her in the hallway he smiled at her, even if she only saw it through the curtain of her hair. It didn't matter where they were going or how many seconds were left until the bell rang or even if there was still a shredded strip of duct tape wrapped around one of his tires. He would always glance in her direction and smile.

And that smile. God, it was the sweetest, purest smile that she'd ever seen. Beautifully white, it seemed to brighten up his entire face. Those big, blue eyes lit up like neon and seemed to almost sparkle. It was innocent and friendly and _sincere_. It was a real smile and that was what drew Tina to this boy that she knew nothing about. Because something in his face reached through to something deep within her and she just knew. Knew that he was someone she wanted to take a risk with.

Except first she should probably introduce herself.

Lifting her eyes, she saw that he was still sitting there beneath the sign-up sheet. He raised his arm with a pensive frown, but the pen in his hand hardly reached the bottom of the paper. Scowling, he lowered his hand and continued to stare at the page. He had just put his hands on the wheels of his chair to turn away when Tina leapt into action.

Walking quickly, she headed straight for the sign-up sheet and managed to reach it just before he turned away. His eyes flickered to her curiously and then he smiled again. Tina felt her insides charge with static. This was it.

"N-need a hand?" she asked, gesturing toward the sign-up sheet.

"Uh, yeah, if you don't mind," he answered. His smile had turned sheepish, his cheeks pinkening, and Tina returned the smile hesitantly.

"No p-problem," she said, digging a pen out of the pocket of her jacket. "I was just coming to s-sign up too. What's your name?"

"Artie Abrams," he said. Tina nodded and turned her attention to the paper. _A-r-t-y-A._ When she glanced back down to Artie he looked for a second like he was going to say something, then closed his mouth and simply smiled. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

"No problem," Tina repeated. She quickly added her name to the line underneath his and then jammed her pen into her pocket again. Awkwardness sank in as she stood there, wondering what on earth to say next. She hadn't planned this far. She just wanted to get to know the boy with the heart-warming smile. Unfortunately for her she had momentarily forgotten that she had zero social skills, which were sort of necessary when it came to making friends. "So, uh..."

"What are you going to sing at the audition?" Artie asked and Tina almost sighed in relief. Thank God at least one of them knew how to carry on a conversation.

"S-something edgy," Tina said with a shrug. "I haven't dec-cided yet. Maybe Katy Perry or Lady Gaga."

Artie chuckled. "I never would've guessed you for someone who listens to Katy Perry," he said. "That's cool. I like her."

"What about you?" Tina asked. With his button-down shirts and pleated pants, she never would've figured him for someone who listened to Katy Perry either.

"I was thinking about going a little more classic," he said with a self-conscious smile. "The Beatles are kind of my usual stand-by. Either 'Across the Universe' or maybe 'Let it Be.'"

"I l-love the Beatles," Tina said, beaming.

Artie's eyes lit up again. "Hey, I've gotta head out and wait for my ride. If you don't mind hanging around, we can give you a ride home. Maybe we can talk music and help each other figure out what to sing for this audition."

Tina's heart leapt. This was it, the defining moment. She could either brush him off, walk away and forget that this conversation had happened. Or she could take that leap of faith, and maybe make the first real friend she'd had since she'd moved to Lima. A friend who was undaunted by her stutter and shared her passion for music. She looked down at Artie's sweetly innocent smile and knew her mind was already made up. Playing it safe hadn't gotten her anywhere that she really wanted to be. It was about time that she started taking some chances and risks with her life.

Returning his smile, she nodded. "Sounds g-great."


	11. Physical

AN: Glad to see that you're all still out there. I kind of thought that with how long it's been since I posted that no one would still be watching, but I was so amazed to get such a great response from you guys. Power to the Artina fans that are still alive and kicking.

Someone posed a great question to me in a review that I wanted to address. They asked if I would be working from songs from both seasons now or if I would stick to just one. I wanted to say that for now I will be trying to use just the songs from season _one_. I will write for season two (I've already written a couple of them) but I want to try and get all the way through season one first. Unless I get completely stuck, and then I might just start double-dipping. Thanks for the question!

* * *

_"Physical" Tina-POV, senior year_

* * *

I'm going to burst into flames at any minute.

Artie and I are sitting curled up together on the couch, watching a movie, but that is the last thing I want to be doing right now. We've been dating for six months now, the house is empty for the night, and I feel like it's about time we take things up a notch. I know that it's been a while for both of us. I know that we said we were going to take things slowly to make sure that our relationship worked this time. And I'm trying, really. But I have needs too, damn it.

I've been dropping hints all night long. I wore a new dress especially for the evening, one with a very generous neckline I never would have dared to wear otherwise. Eating dinner I made a pretty pointed show of licking the spaghetti sauce from my lips extra slow. I've been sneaking extra kisses in all night, lingering ones on the sensitive side of his neck and his ears. All night I have been trying my hardest to give him hints. And like the sweet, naive guy that he his, he isn't picking up on any of them. If he wasn't so adorable I'd be pissed.

So as we sit watching a classic action movie, I decide it's time to turn it on full power. Swinging my legs over the top of his, I slide in even closer to his side and start nuzzling the side of his neck. Artie glances down at me and smiles before giving me a quick kiss. I don't let him get away, keeping his lips on mine and deepening the kiss. He responds with a soft groan and I take that as my go ahead.

Climbing into his lap, I take of his glasses and then sink my fingers into his hair. He pulls me closer, his arms wrapping around my waist. I pull one of his hands away and set it on my leg, just below the hemline of my dress. His fingers are tentative as they trace little patterns on my skin before finally slipping underneath my dress. I gasp, feeling like my skin is charged with electricity everywhere he touches. My fingers find the buttons on his shirt and start on them, fumbling as I struggle to get the little buttons back through the holes. Once I have his neck and shoulders fully exposed, I start kissing my way along them, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the low guttaral noises he makes when I do.

"Artie," I gasp out, getting momentarily distracted when he slide the strap of my dress down to kiss my collarbone. "Artie," I start again, "we should move this to your room."

"Hmm?" Artie asks.

"Your bedroom," I say. "Now."

"My room? Wh-?" Artie suddenly freezes and then pulls back to look up at me, his eyes wide in comprehension. "Oh. _Oh_. Okay. Yes. Let's do that." I climb off his lap with a smile, lining his chair up with the couch so he can transfer. He glances up at me with a devious spark in those innocent blue eyes, his lips quirked up on one side, and all of the fire inside me multiplies by the thousands.

We can't get into that bedroom fast enough.


End file.
